Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Exam Room 2 - Sunburnt, Male

Several furious knocks jarred the front door. With my solitude broken, irritation got the better of me; I grabbed my shotgun and climbed the ladder to the shoe scuffed roof.

Now, I do believe it is necessary to state, I did not always hold such a strong aversion to company. Back in the day, when the majority of the population still had half a brain, I welcomed people into my home. Well, not everyone; Jehovah’s Witnesses were the exception. But as the times have changed, so has my attitude towards house guests.

The looming desert sun poured waves of raging heat upon me as I slowly crawled up the roof on my hands and knees, my worn jeans grating over the rough tiles. I peered past the peak, looking down at the horde of zombies trashing the streets below. Didn’t they know how much time, how much sweat I put into making that yard look pristine? Disrespectful, rotting sons of-

A growling engine cut off my colorful ranting. A crumbling truck tore through the undead, its driver hidden behind the sticky mass of guts clinging to the filthy windshield. I cocked my rifle softly, keeping it steadily trained on the speeding vehicle heading towards my house.

Blocks away, a horn blared, cutting through the gnawing dim. The undead perked up and staggered in the direction of the throbbing note, parting a perfect path for the driver to tear right into my thoroughly demolished yard.

Only inches from the zombie clawed house, the rusting truck pathetically shuttered to a crashing stop. The door opened with an awful grinding creak, indicating its life, quite like mine, was nearing the end.

Heavy boots crunched against the ground; the driver exited the vehicle and headed straight for the hastily built barricade covering the recently abandoned front door. Losing vantage to shoot with any accuracy, I rolled over, slipped down the burning roof, and cautiously entered the house once more.

Standing in the poorly ventilated kitchen, I heard the driver picking expertly away at the rotten wood. Ditching my shotgun on the warped table, I exchanged it for the revolver resting on my hip.

As quietly as possible, I crept down the unnaturally narrow hall, floorboards complaining about each tentative step I took.

A loud splintering crash followed the unfortunate breach of the house. Briefly catching a glimpse of the figure standing in the doorway, I lurched forward and tackling the intruder to the ground; cocked gun pressed right in between two wide, fearful eyes.

“Wait, wait, don’t shoot, you idiot!”

My finger tapping the trigger anxiously; the shrill shriek in her voice forced me to reconsider putting a bullet in her brain. I paused for a moment, taking a good long look at the girl glowering up at me.

“Jordyn?”

I jerked the firearm from her forehead, coming to the sudden realization I was inches away from executing my childhood friend. She scrambled out of my grip, hand hovering over her gun.

"What the hell, Silas?" she demanded.

"Why didn't you knock?" I asked, "I almost shot you!"

"Well, I didn't want the whole horde coming down on me while we exchanged pleasantries through the barred door."

Body still trembling with nauseating horror and wild adrenaline, I pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace. If I were being completely honest, I didn't actually think I'd ever see her again.

"As much as I am touched by this sudden display of affection, we got to go now," Jordyn said, pulling away.

"Go?"

"What did you think I just stopped over for a chat?" she asked, "we are here to get you out of the city. Is your family-"

“They're alive. William and Alice managed to get here before the streets were jammed.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said, sagging slightly, "how long will it take them to pack and leave?”

“Less than five minutes, we’ve got everything ready to go in case we caught a chance to leave at a moments notice.”

“Alright, I'll radio the crew to bring transportation, you get them out here.” Jordyn fumbled with a bulky hand-held radio and sent a scratchy message across the neighborhood, “bring the van; we have them all.”

“Van?” I asked, frowning, “I think you are going to need something a bit bigger.”

“It’s a utility van, should fit everyone and some supplies.”

“Everyone is forty people,” I said.

“What? Where?”

“They’re in the basement.”

“Um, Tyler?” Jordyn called back into the radio, “abort the van. I repeat, abort the van. We’re gonna need a semi.”